


The Black Sisters as “Father, Son, and Not-very-holy Ghost”

by modernKhione



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-03
Updated: 2016-05-03
Packaged: 2018-06-06 06:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6743173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modernKhione/pseuds/modernKhione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>*Rated T for minor swearing.</p><p>What if Bellatrix Lestrange became the ghost of Slytherin after she died? What was the middle Black sister like when she was young? With all the other Pureblood families' power diminished, and a last-minute allegiance change, what does that mean for Narcissa and the Malfoys?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Black Sisters as “Father, Son, and Not-very-holy Ghost”

**Author's Note:**

> I just wrote this, so if there are typos/grammatical mistakes, please tell me!
> 
> (Also, I was trying to write more crackfic, but then somehow I got serious about it halfway through, and it probably shows. Oops.)

**I. Bellatrix, the Ghost of Slytherin House**

  
Bellatrix shuddered at the phantom sensation of being cleaved in two as she watched one of the newest Slytherin urchins run its dinner knives through her midsection. “DO NOT DO THAT,” her voice boomed. That was the only real perk to this ghost business, really; her voice had lost its shrill, screechy quality entirely and had instead taken on the acoustics of a well-designed opera hall whenever she spoke. “HAVE YOU NEVER SEEN A GHOST, YOU PUDDLE OF INCOMPETENCE?” And if the tiny human was going to practice its murder skills on Bellatrix, it might have at least chosen a good broadsword for the task. Bellatrix shook her head. The Families these days were all weak little pussies, like Lucius and his progeny. Not even Cissy’s good genes could save Bellatrix’s nephew--though Cissy had always been softer than her sisters.

“No, never seen a real-live ghost before, ma’am,” the little she-brat said. “Are you magic too?”

O Morgause’s filthiest boot-scum. It was a _mudblood_. Bellatrix wrinkled her nose and glided away as fast as she could. Had she still been tethered to the ground, one might have thought she were scurrying, but no, that would be a mistake. A Black never scurried, and certainly not away from filthy, grubby-faced Muggles.

She shuddered again.

A Muggle in Slytherin. Oh, Tom--the Dark Lord would have been so disappointed.

 

**II. Andromeda, Scion of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black**

She had always been different from her sisters. Bella and Cissy were completely comfortable with the parts given to them, even though Bella chafed occasionally at the societal rules that restrained her.

Andromeda was always different: She didn’t just chafe, she constantly snipped through every single rule that bound her, every single expectation of her as a Proper Lady torn to shreds.

Andromeda liked to run free with mud in her hair, liked her feet wet from wading in the Great Lake, always had sparks dancing from her fingers when she laughed uproariously at the pithy mutterings of her Uncle Alphard. Andromeda Black flouted all rules and made new ones trailing in her wake wherever she went, and then went back and broke those too.

Andromeda was a better duelist than poor Regulus, was a better student than wicked Sirius; better singer than Narcissa, better rule-breaker than Bellatrix, because where Bellatrix broke rules and was punished for it, Andromeda, once caught, charmed her way out of any situation and bent it to fit her, and the adults had no course of action but to let her continue on. Lashings, blood-letting, curses and the like did nothing to dim her spirit; they made it brighter.

Cygnus lamented publicly that Bellatrix wasn’t a son, but in private he wished that Andromeda had been born a boy. She would have been harder to contain than Sirius, but with a few gentle corrections to her path she would have brought glory to the Black name again with fewer of the unseemly outbursts of Bellatrix, with more social finesse than Narcissa; he was sure of it.

Then Andromeda Black became Andromeda Tonks, and the other Families thought, _What a waste_.

 

**III. Narcissa, Patron of the Pureblooded Families**

There was so little money left after the war.

Narcissa took a sip of Darjeeling from her cup and sighed internally. “And, not that your company is unpleasant, Mr Rosier, but I do wonder why you came to me to discuss your plans for this venture.”

Evan Frederic Rosier IV, not the Evan Theodore Rosier who had been a Death Eater, of course, but a second cousin, plastered a smile to his pockmarked face. He might have been handsome, had he not contracted Dragon Pox in his fifth year. “It is quite embarrassing, and somewhat unseemly, Lady Malfoy--”

“Please, Frederic, we have never been close, but I have known you since our youth. Call me Narcissa.” She took another sip of tea and glanced behind him to warn one of Lucius’ ridiculous peacocks away from their table. The white-plumed thing kept on its way sauntering towards Evan, its little eyes fixed on his unruly brown hair.

“Narcissa, then. I am here with my plans because I require funding. The Rosier estates were all confiscated by those damned--excuse me, my lady--the Ministry for Theo’s mistakes, which I think you will agree is quite unfair.”

Well, not if all the Rosiers had been heartily furnishing the Death Eaters with Galleon upon Galleon from their vaults, but Narcissa settled for simply raising an eyebrow as she sipped from her tea again. She knew the other Families were envious of her and Lucius’ good fortune to, well, keep their fortune, but really--the rest of them hadn’t noticed which way the wind blew, or hadn’t acted on it, until it was quite and truly too late. Was it really their fault that the other Families weren’t as versatile as the Malfoys? And they still had the audacity to come to her for money! If she had a Knut for every wizard who had come to them in recent times for business funding, the Malfoy fortune would have more than doubled already.

Narcissa pretended to give the venture a moment’s more consideration, let Rosier stew a bit in his doubt, though her mind had already been made even before Evan had stepped through the Manor’s fireplace.

“I believe I can help,” Narcissa began slowly, drawing out her words as slowly as possible to savor Evan’s expressions, “though only up to perhaps eighty percent of what you’ve stated you require, I’m afraid. I wish you good luck in securing the rest.”

They concluded their business quickly after that, and Evan Rosier was on his way. Narcissa sighed aloud this time, and made eye contact with the peacock that had been eyeing her guest. “I give you leave to go after him,” she said solemnly, “and do what you must about his hair. But be quick, and don’t track any dirt into the house.”

The bird seemed to understand. It cocked its head to the side, then the other side, and went loping off to find its prey.

Narcissa smiled. If all these shallow-minded idiots came to her for favors when they hadn’t lifted a finger to help her or her family when they were disgraced by Lord Voldemort, then she sure as hell was going to get her amusement out of them. Narcissa finished her tea. They needed to be taught to respect their betters, after all.


End file.
